


Goretober 2020 [FNaF Edition]

by ThePrincePeach



Series: Goretober 2020 [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Burning, Burning alive, Claustrophobia, Fire, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2020, Graphic, Graphic Description, Organs, The first chapter is literally called fire, Torture, glitch - Freeform, split in half, wtf do you expect to happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrincePeach/pseuds/ThePrincePeach
Summary: The FNaF Set for Eiramew's Goretober 2020! Not every prompt will be here, just the FNaF ones!
Series: Goretober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949032
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Fire

Mike opened his eyes slowly, groaning groggily. His legs shifted before forcibly stopped, the teen blinking a few times in confusion before fully opening his eyes. It was dark, it smelled like something burnt and grease, something hard and bar-like pressed into his back, and he could barely move. Panic almost immediately began to set in. The younger gasped and pushed frantically against the walls of his miniature prison, yelling before he could stop himself. The walls wouldn’t budge. The metal grate under him shifted but didn’t come off completely. He screamed and slammed his fist the best he could against the metal walls around him.

Mike was horribly claustrophobic, despite how much he was prompted to go inside of the small vents, tight areas behind larger furniture, and often given great big hugs by certain animatronics. It almost seemed ironic for someone his size to be so terrified of such small spaces. Pressing his hands flat against the roof above him, he attempted – yet failed – to calm his breathing before he began to hyperventilate. Light came in suddenly and he turned his head to look over, a sore in his neck rising up from being bent at an odd angle for only God knew how long. The window was dingy yet Mister Afton’s smirking face was obvious on the other side of the glass, holding up a towel previous blocking the window. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” He chuckled, “I thought you would have been asleep until six, that would ruin all the fun.” He pulled the towel away and set it aside, instead crouching down to gaze into the window. A horrifying realization suddenly struck Mike and he cried out, 

“You put me in the oven?!” 

William laughed, nodded, and agreed, “I did! The closet seemed too big for this game, I couldn’t put you in a restroom stall, and a vent would be too easy to lose you in. So, I thought, the oven! No way to lose track of you, easier to watch you, and easier to keep closed.” He rapped his knuckles on the metal besides the window and tilted his head, smiling still. “You didn’t think I would let you see what I did and get off scot-free, did you? No, no, Mike. Little /rats/ like you get taught lessons. This is yours!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Mike yelled, pressing his hands against the window. “Let me out!! Please let me out, please please!” Tears budded in the teen’s eyes as he banged against the glass, his voice cracking. The oven door wouldn’t open. Afton rose a cocky brow and straightened his head. 

“Begging already?” He mocked as he grabbed the oven timer, typed in a number Mike couldn’t quite see. He set it on top of the back burner. “Oh, no no. That’s not how this works, kid. I’m going to leave you like this until you learn your lesson; Don’t try to snitch on me.” He rose to his feet and smoothed down his pants, then turned on his heel. 

“Don’t leave me!! Please please please!! PLEASE PLEASE!!” Mike was nearly screaming, trembling hard. “Where are you going?! Don’t leave me like this! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!!” 

“Seeya’ at six am, kid. Don’t break the oven.” Afton chimed as he strode out of the kitchen, chuckling to himself. Mike screamed, his tears threatening on the corners of his almond eyes. The teen slammed his palms uselessly against the glass, eyes screwed shut, screaming for Afton to return. His heart pounded in his chest, bouncing off the tight walls of the oven. No clock in sight. What time was it anyway? Did Afton really take the clock out just so Mike couldn’t see the time? No windows in the kitchen, no way to see when the darkness would end? A hint of hope returned the moment the man peeked his head back into the kitchen. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” 

He reached in, smirking, and clicked the lights off. Mike let out another desperate scream. Afton laughed and again, left the kitchen.

Mike let out a soft sob as he hit against the glass, trying – yet failing due to minimum space – to his shoulder against the door and knock it down. The door jolted forward yet never opened more than an inch or so. He leaned against the door to keep it open, trembling hands reaching up between the gap, trying to find what was keeping the door closed. Tight chains rattled loudly against the metal, wound firmly around the oven handle and bar above it; keeping the door from opening. 

“You son of a bitch!” Mike cried, banging against the door again. “Let me out! Let me out!! I’ll end you! LET ME OUT!! LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OOUUUUTT!!” 

After what felt like hours of struggling, of hitting the glass, it finally cracked. Mike tensed up when he heard it, his panic fueled frenzy telling him to keep going. His fingers frantically felt over the glass until he felt the crack, ignoring the stinging at his fingertips with it. Another glimmer of hope as he began hitting the crack, harder, and harder. When the slices of glass were too much over his knuckles, he lifted his arm and urgently began beating his elbow into it the best he could. A piece of glass fell out, freedom was so close. Mike managed to wiggle his arm through the newly made hole and reached out into the open air, suddenly realizing how much tighter the oven felt in comparison. A panic attack was sure to come, his chest tightening and heart hurting. He cried out as glass dug into the flesh of his arm, twisting his arm to try and grab at the oven handle, the chains, anything to free himself of his metal box of a Hell. 

Unknowing to Mike, in his mad attempt to freedom, his fingers caught the oven dial and suddenly jerked it clockwise; 575 degrees. 

Suddenly, the inside of the oven began to light up. Mike froze up and glanced around, his arm still outside the hole he made. He pulled it back and gasped when he realized he couldn’t, the glass dug into his skin and he yelled. With the dim glow around him growing brighter, he could see the beads of his own blood running down the oven window. Pulling on his arm only led to pain. He was stuck even further. He screamed out and slammed his other fist into the window. 

“MISTER AFTON!!” He cried, “HELP ME, HELP ME!!” 

His pleas fell on deaf ears and a closed office door, a radio playing catchy tunes of the evening. Heat flowed around him suddenly, surpassing a comfortable warmth to something more suffocating and dry. The oven was turned on, he realized far too late. His screaming only grew. 

“MISTER AFTON, MISTER AFTON, PLEASE!! IT’S ON, THE OVEN IS ON, HELP ME! HELP ME!!” 

First, the metal bars under him began to warm. Mike’s back and hips attempted to push up and away from them, only to drop back down when he realized he couldn’t hold himself up in such a cramped space. He pulled frantically on his arm, his shoulder pressed firmly into the corner with no sign of freedom. His head was spinning, gas, he assumed. His stomach churned and bile bubbled up in the back of his throat. Mike began to sob uncontrollably as the heat below him grew intense quickly, screams ringing out as the metal began to burn him. His back jumped up desperately to get away, his free hand, his legs, frantic to get away from the burning. Yet, he fell right back onto it and a new wave of pain ate through his back. 

“IT HURTS, IT HURTS!! AFTON, SOMEONE?! SOMEONE?! HELP MEEE!!” 

Next, the walls of the oven began to heat up. His hand, his neck, his head; burning. Everything was burning. The suffocating scent of burning and gas made Mike dizzy. Hotter, hotter, and hotter still; blisters rose over the exposed flesh of his hand. He screamed. And screamed. From below him, the metal grating grew hot enough and the back of his shirt, his pants, began to smoke. He felt his skin sizzling and his agonized wails rang out. 

This was Hell. It had to be Hell. 

Mike was in Hell. 

At six am, William looked up to his clock and smiled. Morning already? The hour seemed to go by quickly to him. He clicked off the radio and listened for a moment, pausing when he heard nothing in return. The man frowned and looked at the office door, standing up slowly, still listening to the silence. Was it possible Mike had fainted? He tilted his head and moved quickly to the door, opening it, then tensing up when the overpowering smell of burnt hair, burnt skin, burnt /something/ hit him like a wall. He covered his nose and mouth with his shirt collar and let out a cough or two, glancing around the main room urgently. Why weren’t the fire alarms going off? 

Mike. 

He rushed to the kitchen, feeling a hint of panic, stumbling when he made it to the doorway. The smell was worse here. Smoke was billowing out of the oven and filling the kitchen. William’s eyes watered and his coughing increased as he hurried through the kitchen, stumbling through the smokey darkness before clicking on the lights. The oven was fully lit with flames, William cried out in shock. No, no that wasn’t supposed to happen! No no no no! Mike’s arm hung loosely out of a hole in the window, up his arm and elbow scorched black and covered in painful blisters. William hesitantly stepped forward. 

“… Mike?” 

His stomach dropped as the hand remained still. 

“Mike?” 

A choked shriek rang out and the hand lurched out, grabbing William’s pants leg. The man cried out again and stumbled back, falling to his rear, watching in horror as Mike slammed against the window. The teen screeched in agony, his skin covered in black and red blisters and burns, his eyes wide and wild, flames licking at his body. His hair was mainly gone, his piercings leaving black marks where their placements were. His clothes hung to his body in burnt strips, revealing the blackened skin below. Mike’s screech was more akin to that of a wild banshee, bouncing off the walls and filing through the smoke of the kitchen. William crawled backwards in fear as his eyes widened, icy shock taking over his system. 

He watched in terror as Mike went limp again after a few more moments of screaming, his head falling against the newly formed crack in the window, arm hanging uselessly out of the window. His head slid down an inch or two, leaving a layer of flesh behind. His eyes, full of terror and pain, were lifeless otherwise. The fire, the metal around him, crackled and sizzled loudly. 

After a minute or so of just watching, waiting, in shock-filled anticipation at the burnt up Mike; the oven timer dinged.


	2. Glitch

Jeremy groaned in annoyance at the sight of the glitchy rabbit at his side, adjusting the VR headset to make it a bit more comfortable as to try and ignore the twitchy waving beside him. The thing was annoying, the most annoying part of the game. And yet, it kept trying. Jeremy claims ‘it’ because if the man inside really was a man, he wouldn’t hide behind a character to dodge his responsibilities. The older man sent a harsh glare up to the rabbit-thing. 

“Why do you keep trying?” He muttered as he adjusted the controller straps, watching the VR hands dangle uselessly under him as the controllers hung there. “I know it’s you in there, ya’ know.” 

Of course Jeremy knew who was inside the costume. He might have been old, but he could recall that suit and every nightmare-induced memory it brought with it. Dingy yellow fur and glowing eyes, that slender hand waving still. Jeremy felt his annoyance rising as it was so close and so visible. He could never escape from it, from /him/, from any of it. He tried to hide and it only found him again, again, and again. His fists trembled as he gripped the controller, rage only building the longer he stared at it. 

“I hate you,” Jeremy used to believe that hatred could be overpassed, he never hated a soul, violence could be talked through. That was before William Afton took everything, everyone, he ever loved and cared for. Jeremy wasn’t used to anger, he knew it’s what William always wanted to urge out of him. Get a rile out of him and watch him blow. “Are you happy? You got what you want? So why do you keep trying?” He stood up straight, the rabbit kept waving. “I hate you. I hate you. Everyone would like you better dead, but here you are. Dead but alive. I hate you.” 

Jeremy didn’t like anger, but he didn’t like Afton even more. He beat Afton once when the man was alive; beat him with his cane, yelling and screaming until the police had to pull him off of the other man. That was the last time he ever saw Afton alive, yet here he was. A ghost no one wanted. Jeremy wanted to hit him again. And again. And again. He wanted Afton to be in a little ball on the floor again. He hated violence. It wasn’t right. But dear Lord it sounded so good right now. He couldn’t control himself as he yelled, 

“Go away and die already!” 

He reeled his hands back and shoved the rabbit, lurching forward a step just to get it as hard as he could. His hands hit it’s chest and pushed in one motion. He was surprised to feel the rabbit’s chest, his fur, something under it – even more so to feel it stumble back as Jeremy moved forward. It was caught off guard by the man’s violence, it seemed, flailing arms and shuffling feet moving backwards with the sudden force. The form flickered and glitched in shock. Its heel caught on a table leg and the furniture scooted back with a wooden squeal, the party hats jolting and a few falling over. It fell back with the trip, taking a handful of the table cloth with it. Jeremy closed his eyes at the resounding crash, tensing up hard, almost flinching at the noise. When Jeremy opened his eyes after a few moments of hesitation, he could see the tail end of a few balloons floating upwards and a party hat rolling away. The tablecloth covering the rabbit and only showing kicking, twitching legs. 

Jeremy shouldn’t have, but he laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

“Oh, oh, weren’t expecting that, were ya’?” He mocked, watching the skinny legs and oversized rabbit feet kicking wildly. Jeremy held a smug smirk as he folded his arms across his chest, watching it continue to kick. “Come on, get up you big baby, I only pushed –” the tablecloth was kicked off, Jeremy froze, “…. You…”

The lower half of the rabbit was on one side of the wall, the other half seemingly through the wall. Jeremy watched in stunned silence at the splatter over the wall where its lower half had slid down the wall; checkered pink and black boxes, missing textures. Jeremy felt his breath hitch as he realized the rabbit was split in half at the hips, the arm sitting beside the shaking thighs, also split from the rest of the arm. The puddle forming around the split grew around it, more pink and black boxes. Did it bleed as missing textures? It made sense, he thought, no programmer made blood. The heels of the rabbit dug against the tiles and pushed the lower half against the wall as if to try and reconnect with the other half on the other side. The hand’s fingers curled and uncurled in what Jeremy could only assume to be pain. 

His hands reached up and clamped over his mouth as the lower half of the sliced rabbit rolled and kicked and flailed, more of the ‘blood’ leaking out. A horrible thought ran through Jeremy’s head as he froze to the spot; where was the upper half? His stomach churned as he stepped back, needing to table behind him to keep himself standing, legs threatening to give up on him as they were reduced to jelly. His hands trembled as one gripped the table edge and the other kept over his mouth to keep his breakfast from rising up. The sight was gruesome and Jeremy didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it. 

“S-Serves you right!” He instead yelled, pointing accusingly at the lower half of the rabbit. “Try me again, I dare you! I dare you!” 

It dared him. He flinched when he saw a yellow, shaking hand reach around the doorway the rabbit once stood behind, and grip the doorframe tightly. The ears were seen next, then the head, then the severed arm smacking against the ground with the oozing stump hitting the tiles. As soon as the head was revealed, it snapped its black, glowing gaze to Jeremy. Even without changing expressions, Jeremy felt venomous hatred in that off-sighted glare. He felt glued to the spot as he watched the upper half pull itself and crawl around the doorframe, leaving behind a chunky trail of pink and black textures in its wake. Jeremy felt himself gag. 

The severed arm gripped at the floor and used its fingers to pull itself towards the upper body, the lower half still agonizingly writhing. Jeremy couldn’t help but watch in grotesque awe as the rabbit grabbed the fabric around its hip and pull itself closer to its squirming lower half. It pulled the sliced ends close and mashed them together, the sounds of something wet and meaty rubbing together sounding out. The legs pulled away and stole the rabbit from view behind the table to both Jeremy’s relief and curious dismay. He hesitantly stepped forward, then closer, trying to peer over the table. 

All was silent for a moment or so, Jeremy nibbled worriedly on his lower lip. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he shuffled forward another step. 

“H… Hey…” He mumbled softly. “… Uh.” 

He jumped back when a yellow arm jutted up and grabbed the table, trembling as it pushed itself up slowly but surely. It stood up, swaying from side to side in a disoriented shuffle, reaching up to hold its head. Jeremy watched with uncertainty as it looked down, then looked back at him. The man winced the moment he noticed that the rabbit had put itself together wrong, the top half facing the wrong way, the legs bending backwards and knees knocking together. More pink and black goo clinging around the once-severed waist of the rabbit and over the arm, dripping onto the floor. The rabbit stared long and hard at Jeremy as the man stared back in shock, neither daring to make a move. Jeremy needed to leave the game. He could touch it, which meant the horrifying likeliness that it could touch /him/ as well. 

The man’s hands trembled as he began to lift them up to the headset, icy fear chilling him to the core and leaving his feet still to the floor. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make a noise. Everything choked up in his throat. 

The moment the rabbit noticed Jeremy move, its arms reached straight out for him. Glitching through the table, it charged at him at a blinding speed, legs still on backwards.

Jeremy screamed.


End file.
